


Mossflower DLC

by TangerineBasilisk (Coralwyrm)



Series: Mossflower DLC [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: Adorable Argonian babies, Argonian Dragonborn - Freeform, Crossover, Epic Adventures, F/M, Gen, Post-Skyrim Adventures, Pregnancy, Silly, Unexplained Magicks and General Confusion, Unwarranted Self-Importance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coralwyrm/pseuds/TangerineBasilisk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn and her ever-faithful husband, Derkeethus, take some bad advice from a crazy wizard. Using the Scrolls of Odysseusian Travel, given to them by said bonkers sorcerer, they end up dimension-stepping not to the destination of their homeland, Black Marsh, but instead into Mossflower Woods, home of the most saccharine creatures to ever go on epic adventures since my hamster got out of his cage.</p>
<p>Join them as they help stop the evil Iratag Ironfist, foxy tyrant of Westad, from laying waste to the Western Coast! Well, it's mostly Derkeethus doing that. The Dragonborn has something a little different on her plate, what with being pregnant and being visited in her dreams by the time god Akatosh, who has a proposition: have neat adventures all over the place for a long time, on the vague promises of something more, or go home now and live a boring life of relative anonymity. You can probably guess which one she takes.</p>
<p>If it seems a little silly, try taking a grain of salt. If that doesn't work, try the whole canister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mossflower DLC

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover story of The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim and the Redwall series by Brian Jaques. Skyrim is an epic fantasy video game with an incredibly involved mythology that spans more than five games and several novels. It is set in the vast, wonderful world of Nirn and several other planes of Oblivion, and features a wide variety of different races and philosophies. Redwall, meanwhile, is set in a timeless land much like medieval England and features the native wildlife of England as the heroes and villains of many stories.
> 
> In this crossover, I want to keep the feelings of wonder I got when playing Skyrim and combine it with the memories I have of reading Redwall as a child (and last week) and imagining the colorful adventures the abbey creatures had defending their home from trouble.
> 
> I am really open to improvement and truly appreciate all the feedback I get from people who take the time to read what I've written. I enjoy writing a lot and hope to give you all a sense that you didn't waste your time. That said, be prepared for silliness. This is a video game/book fanfiction crossover, after all.
> 
> If I made a mistake with tagging, titling, whatever, please tell me. This is my first work on here, and I intend to post many more. It helps if I know what I'm doing.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

In the golden throne room of the dark Castle Regale on the small island of Westad, a small little mouse sang:

 

_He beats the coast_

_with his rats_

_No creature's safe_

_from his wrath_

 

_No mouse nor mole_

_nor otter's clan_

_will ever match his_

_hateful hand_

 

_Westad! Jewel of the Western Sea!_

_Fell beneath his spiked mace!_

_Heed not this warning now_

_And you will be next!_

 

 

The small mouse shivered and ducked his head down, awaiting his judgment.

The large gray fox that sat upon the golden throne before him brought a beringed claw to his chin. “Hmmm...” he said, enjoying the mouse's fear. “I don't know...it lacks a certain...something. What do you think, my queen?” He turned to the pale vixen that occupied a cushioned seat beside him.

“No, my love. It simply won't do,” she said, shaking her head. The mouse in front of them let out a little sob.

The female fox continued on. “It doesn't even mention your name, and there's no punch behind it! We need something that our searats can bawl out to the slaves rowing the galleyships. Not some light poem.”

The gray fox nodded his agreement. “Do it again, mouse. This time, make it better. And mention my queen here. She deserves to have her praises sung, as well.”

The little creature at their mercy began to cry even harder. “Thank you, my lord and lady! Thank you for sparing my life!”

The male fox snarled and brought his scepter down upon the mouse's neck. “Do not address my queen! And I haven't spared your life yet, I've only prolonged your sentence. Get my song right this time or your luck will run out!”

A hulking searat came up behind the dazed mouse. “Come here, ye dragged flotsam. I'm taking ye back to de bilge before ye insult our king furder.”

The gray fox waved his mail-clothed paw in indifference. “The only thing that mouse has of use to me now is a good song. Make sure he gets it right this time.”

The small creature's ragged breaths faded out of the chamber as the searat dragged him back to his cell. Even before the echoes were gone, the gray fox had turned to his mate.

“No gratitude these days. I spare his life and he goes around insulting my queen. I tell you, it is a sad state of affairs with these creatures.”

The pale fox stared at him placidly. She was bedecked in all sorts of heavy jewelry, and expensive cloths draped around her reclining form. “Mmm, my lord Iratag, maybe a song isn't the best way to spread the word about your rule.”

Iratag, scourge of the western seas and master of Westad, took his queen's paw in his own. “What else do you suggest, Edena?”

Edena, vixen queen of Westad, gave it some thought. “Action,” she concluded. “The only thing these creatures understand is action. Launch a renewed attack on the western coast. Attack only the undefended places, of course. Scatter the creatures. Then move inland. As for Salamandastron...lay seige. They cannot stay holed up in their mountain forever.”

Iratag thought on it. “My love, you are right. The best way to make my name known is to speak it to the creatures I'm currently defeating. Physical fortune is always worth more than fame, anyway.” The warlord sighed and smiled at his co-conspirator. “What would I do without you, my queen?”

“Probably be overthrown by the first two beasts with half a thought to rub together, my lord. Luckily, I am here. And you are still in power.”

“Yes, you are my lucky charm,” Iratag purred into her ear. He turned to his guards and started barking out orders. “Inform Captains Poytin and Leold that they will be setting sail tomorrow morning. They will begin attacking the strategic locations that I will tell them and they are to make sure nobeast escapes to tell a tale. Oh, and get rid of that mouse. I have no need of silly songs.”

The searats nodded and two left to inform the captains.

Outside, a storm raged, as if nature itself knew the events that were about to transpire. It would be several weeks before the attacks started, but Iratag Ironfist's cruelty had already taken many lives. Time would tell whether he would be successful in ruling more.

 

\-------

 

A mouse, bedecked in a rust-colored habit, made his way up the rosy steps along the inside wall of Redwall Abbey. Abbot Decklau, newly appointed and full of anxieties, had come outside to clear his head. The moon shone overhead, and there was absolute silence across the blanket of forest. The night was blue-grey and clear. A perfect time for reflection.

Unless, of course, you were the abbot of Redwall. Ottermum Jilla found him soon after he had taken a lean on the battlement for some thinking. “Abbot,” she said, “I need you to come to the dormitory. My young'un's said he's had a terrible dream.”

This caused the abbot to smile. “A dream, Jilla? I would have thought you could take care of it yourself, being his mother and all. Don't the young ones usually have nightmares? Part of growing up, yes?”

It was not a good decision to do that, he thought immediately. Jilla's stately face stared down at his and he was at once reminded of her superior years and experience. His condescending remark had been like a barnacle biting at a whale. “One of my young'uns, abbot. Not Wilk. Jadspur. He dreamt that Martin the Warrior appeared to him and spoke.”

Her serene disposition, carefully ignoring his comment, made the news all the worse. “M—Martin the Warrior? But he hasn't—but we haven't had a sign from him in—in over...”

“Forty seasons, abbot. Before your time. Before even my time. It was a warning when we were about to be besieged by that warband of rats and ferrets. We were able to gather in our kin and prepare before they arrived.”

“What did he say? What did Martin say to him?” Decklau clutched at the front of her habit. The Abbey, now under his care, would have to be defended!

“I would rather you hear it from him yourself.” She patted his shoulder and steered him gently down the stairs, across the lawn, and into the door of the Great Hall. All the while, he babbled.

“If it's trouble,” he said, “we need to get...weapons! And err we need...to gather in everyone, and make sure we have enough food—Friar needs to be told, we need to ask Skipper to do—”

Jilla attempted to calm him down. “Erido is with Jaspur right now. He is my husband, after all. He has already said that he will gather together the band and begin scouting the woods.” She patted the nervous abbot as he counted the things to be done on his fingers. “In the morning,” she added.

They arrived before the door of the family of Jilla and Skipper Erido. Jilla ushered the abbot in and left to get drinks from the kitchen. The abbot, meanwhile, went straight to the chair where young Jaspur was sitting, being watched over by his formidable father.

“Jadspur, what did Martin say? What did you see? Tell me!” Decklau was nearly delirious with worry. Jadspur looked at his father, who merely shook his head lightly. Skipper of Otters knew how nervous new leaders were, and only hoped the abbot would soon calm down after a season or two more of experience at the helm of the Abbey.

“Ah...I saw Martin in...it was a...” the young otter was nervous, even more so that both his father and the abbot were watching him closely. He took a deep breath and wished his mother was there, before starting again. “Martin stood in front of me, looking like the tapestry, in the Great Hall, and he said...that times were coming, I mean troubled times were coming, and that we need to be prepared.”

Decklau's jaw dropped. “That's _it_? No warning, no direction, just 'beware!'?” He stood up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, Jadspur, you really had me worried.” He sighed and laughed lightly. “Good to know that 'times are coming'. I'm sure we'll be prepared for that.”

Jadspur reached out, trying to convey the same gravity that he had felt when the mouse-warrior and founder of the Abbey had spoken to him not twenty minutes earlier. He struggled to find words, when Erido stepped forward and put his hand on the abbot's shoulder. “Abbot,” he began. He was not a man of many words. “You of all people should know when Martin speaks to a creature, he uses few words. The meaning is there. We have been warned.”

The abbot, wanting so desperately for this warning to just be a child's dream, gave in to the solemn advice of the older creature. “You're right,” he said. “I'm sorry, Jadspur. It's just...hard to imagine that we will have trouble coming to us after so long a period of peace. I heed your words, now. We must prepare to meet whatever it is that's coming.”

Erido smiled at the abbot's admission of guilt. “It's alright, abbot. We've all been taken by surprise. For now, let's take a rest and discuss it in the morning. Jilla will be here any minute with some warm drinks.”

The abbot had his drink and departed, spending the rest of the night pacing the floor of his room. Trouble was coming, he knew, but what would it be?

 

\-------

 

In a shaded forest meadow, far from Redwall Abbey, a multitude of goodbeasts went on with their lives. Supper had been supped, chores had been completed, and all that was left to do was enjoy the warm summer rays that filtered down through the leaves. Squirrels capered about on the trees, otter children wrestled in the creek, mouse mothers minded their babes, and the old ones reclined and remembered the summers of their youth. It was a good day.

A sour note rang out across the meadow. Creatures described it later as a sort of a “twang” that ripped across the sky and shook the soul. It was accompanied by an awful purple light, birthed from a dark storm cloud that appeared on the edge of the meadow. The cloud hovered there while everybeast ran, screams mingling with the strange humming noise that issued from the center of the dark omen.

One beast did not make away it in time. Harrin, second-oldest meadowbeast and darn proud of it, spotted a molebabe that had been left in the care of another, and who had been left behind. The old mouse threw himself on little Thrum, shielding the child from whatever had caused the incident. After a while, Harrin was able to look up and realize he was still alive.

Part of a tree stood between Harrin and the strange occurrence, and he was able to stand up to take a better look. He heard first an unfamiliar voice come from the other side.

“Oh dear. I don't think we're where we're supposed to be, Keeth,” a female said.

_Survivors!_ Harrin thought. _They must have been caught in the explosion!_

A second voice, male this time, spoke a reply, and Harrin, still holding Thrum, stepped out to greet the couple, who doubtlessly needed help. Meadowbeasts were known for their great hospitality and willingness to help others.

The sight before him stopped him dead in his tracks. Two beasts stood on the near side of a large cart bearing a load of old chests and bags. The cart was something interesting, but it was not what caused Harrin to duck back behind the tree and silently plea for help. No, it was the two creatures that frightened him so.

_Vermin!_ he thought. _What are they doing so far west?_ He knew of a terrifying clan of lizards to the east of his home, but he didn't think that they would travel outside of their swampy domain. The stories he had heard of a child spoke of their ruthlessness—if they caught you near their swamp, they would cook you alive and eat you!

Terror blocked out the more reasonable part of his mind, the part that remembered how many of the stories he had been told as a young one were meant to discourage dangerous behavior (like, say, wandering off into a swamp), and how many tales he had spun to others' children about dangerous things he had not experienced himself. No, Harrin was convinced that the vermin in the meadow would undoubtedly be his demise—and Thrum's as well!

The old mouse shushed and comforted the molebabe, who had up till this moment been rather nonchalant with the turn of events. However, when the adult began to show immense worry for their safety, Thrum picked up on Harrin's anxieties and chose to respond the best way a child can—by screaming his head off.

Harrin gasped and covered the babe's mouth with his paw. He didn't know if the lizards had heard, but didn't want to chance a chase, so he flattened himself against the trunk of the tree and tried to disappear.

He was beginning to think it had worked, when a scaly head poked around the side of the tree and looked at him. Harrin took off running, Thrum bouncing in his grip and protesting with his voice. The mouse thought to himself that he was keeping good pace, especially for a beast his age, when the lizard easily loped ahead of him and stopped in his tracks. His throat caught and he tried once more to shield the still-screaming Thrum from the hungry vermin's clawed grip.

“Please don't eat us!” Harrin cried out, trying a last, desperate chance. “Thrum's just a babe!” Perhaps the lizard, female as it looked, had some ounce of mercy.

The beast looked at him with curiosity. “Who are you?” she asked.

Harrin took a minute to catch his breath and examine the lizard. She was a strange color—pale pink with many barbaric colors painted all over her face. She had on a simple dress and fine gloves and boots, along with a strange-looking sword. He turned more towards her and realized that—gulp—she had rather vicious fangs that practically stuck out of her mouth. He looked away again and tried not to catch her gaze.

“Who are you?” she asked again. Ignoring her probably wouldn't work, he reasoned.

“I...” he began, still afraid, but a bit bolder, “I am Harrin, and this molebabe is Thrum. And this is a peaceful place, where many creatures gather together to live in harmony! And a lot of warriors, too!” It was worth a shot.

“Is he okay?” she asked, indicating the wailing Thrum.

“Yes, he is. He is just scared.” _Just like me_ , he thought, _but I can't just cry about it._

“Who are you?” she asked again.

The old mouse looked at her blankly. “I am Harrin,” he said slowly. “And this is Thrum.”

“Sorry,” she said, “it was at the top of my list. I meant to say, what is this place?”

Harrin thought he might be able to get rid of her. “Oh, it's nothing. Nothing really, not really a place. No one's here. It's just a place by a creek—a boring place with nothing around.”

“I thought you said people lived around here?” she asked. Darn, it might have worked.

“Hmmmmm, not reeeally. It's very boring. Nothing much,” Harrin, old as he was, still thought that persistence might be key.

“Okay,” she said, and started heading back to the meadow.

“Wait!” Harrin ran after her. “Where are you going?”

She stopped to answer. “Back to my husband and my cart.” And off she went again. Harrin trailed after her, hoping that some of the other creatures would come back to help.

And he was in luck. By the time they got back to the scene of the crime (he noted with pleasure that he had given the lizard quite a run!), other beasts had started filtering back home. Nalto, an otter and unofficial champion of the Meadowfolk, was investigating the cart thoroughly. Someone must have ran all the way to the burrow to get him. Following closely behind him were Renth, Thrum's father, and Marja, a squirrel maid. The other lizard, a green male dressed in a white shirt and breeches with a large bow on his back, had sat down against a wheel of the cart, and was unseen by the crew sent to investigate.

Harrin hurried to put some distance between the lizards and himself. Renth spotted the now-quiet Thrum in the mouse's arms and raced to greet him. The mole father ignored the interesting sights to hug his son closely to himself. He had been working on repairing a tunnel in the burrow, leaving his child under the care of another.

Nalto seemed to be preoccupied entirely with the cart. Marja, however, was a bright and curious young squirrel, and noticed the pink lizard immediately. Her jaw dropped and she tapped Nalto on the arm to point at her.

The female walked over to the cart and helped the green lizard up from his sitting position. She exchanged a glance with him, communicating a thousand words, before stepping around the cart and going to greet the otter. Marja appeared in her way, uncomfortably close, and the young squirrel began her assault.

“What are _you_?” she asked, her tail swishing around behind her.

The lizard was taken aback. “What manner of Khajiit are _you_?” she asked in return.

Marja was very willing to answer. “I'm a squirrel. My name is Marja. What are you?”

The lizard glanced back to her husband before drawing herself up to her full height. It was an impressive move—everyone in the meadow but Renth turned to look. She filled every inch of her imposing stature as she said, “I am Dovahkiin. Last of the Dragonborns. Former Arch-mage of the College of Winterhold, Listener for the Dark—”

The lizard's formidable appearance and powerful name were absolutely lost on the young squirrel maid. “Cool! So he's a dragonborn too? How are you last of a dragonborn if he's here too?” She looked from the green lizard to the pink one.

The female lost her line of thought and deflated. “I'm not...He's not...Derkeethus here is not a Dragonborn. I am...I suppose you mean what species we are. That's uh, that's Argonian, not Dragonborn.”

Marja did not notice the lady lizard's disappointment at not making a powerful impression. “Wow! Argon-ian. Argonian! That's so neat! Where do you come from? And what's your name!”

“My name...is Demithea. This is my husband, Derkeethus. We hail from...” the lizard was silent for moment. “From Black—...from Skyrim. We are on our way to our ancestral home of Black Marsh.”

Nalto chose that moment to be heard. “How did you get here? Your cart has left no tracks to speak of, and I have never seen your like in all of Mossflower.”

“A wizard told us he had a good spell that would get us home in a jiffy. We've been traveling for a while now, and wanted to get home to our families as soon as possible. We haven't been back since before we got married, and want to meet each others' families, you see.” Demithea turned to Derkeethus and a frightening look crossed her face. “That wizard Tarhielson and I are going to have some words when we get back. He promised we would get where we need to go.”

Nalto spoke up immediately. “We will provide you with good food and shelter while you get your bearings. Meadowfolk always help out a beast in need.”

“Nalto! A word, please.” Harrin took the otter by the arm and stepped away to conference with him. “These vermin show up suddenly, in the midst of a mysterious explosion, and we're expected to believe they have no idea where they are? I'm thinking that—yes, I think they're a distraction! We should get back to the burrow before we're attacked by more.”

The sturdy otter warrior just sighed and said, “Harrin, I'm surprised by you. Usually you're the first beast to offer help to those in need. This couple obviously got some bad directions and they need our help.”

“I'm just _saying_ , Nalto, that I don't think they're everything they appear to be!”

The otter held up his paw. “I will hear no more of it. They are invited to spend the night.”

Harrin grabbed his arm and said, “Nalto. Look at the size of her _fangs_.”

Nalto looked back at the pink lizard, who was busy asking questions of Marja and being questioned in return. Nearby, her husband snacked on a frosting-covered roll.

“Fangs, Harrin? You mean like these?” He pulled up his lip, showing off the large canine teeth native to his species.

Harrin sighed and knew the battle was lost, but maybe not the war. “No, Nalto, not like yours. That creature is a pure _predator_ , believe me! I think we will all regret this decision soon.”

“Well, Harrin,” the otter said, and started back to the rest. “Good thing it's not your decision to make.” He paused and waited till Marja was done recounting the very interesting thing she was doing not ten minutes before when the explosion happened, then spoke. “We welcome you, Demithea and Derkeethus, to our home. We have good food and many stories for friends. If you will follow us back, we will lead you to where you'll be staying.”

Demithea spoke for the both of them. “Thank you, Mister...?”

“Nalto. I am a leader among the Meadowfolk. Marja here, you've already met. Harrin, I'm guessing you've talked. And...” He turned around to find Renth, who was currently talking to a group of curious beasts who had returned after the initial scare. “That over there is Renth, our ah, foremole. He's in charge of structure back at the burrow. You will surely meet many of the other good creatures who make their home here.” He made sure to raise his voice a little at the last part, so the Meadowfolk on the edges of the clearing would hear.

“I thank you for your kindness and hospitality! We will only stay here for a little while, though if you need any interesting jobs done or quests completed, we will do that for you.”

“I am grateful for the offer. Do you mind leaving your cart here?” Nalto did not want to drag it all the way back to the burrow.

“It'll be fine. I put about a thousand master locks on it back when we were packing...up....” The pink Argonian faltered and blinked, breathing slowly. Her husband was instantly by her side.

“Are you alright, my love?” Up till this point, he had been practically invisible, but was now holding her steady.

“I'll be...fine...just—uh,” she said, holding up a finger before letting it fall. “Uh...” She folded up gently, and was caught by Derkeethus.

Nalto rushed forward, but the green lizard had a good handle. “I suppose she is feeling after-effects of the journey,” he said, and hefted his wife onto his shoulders.

“Do you...need help carrying her?” The otter was surprised at how easily he carried her weight.

“No. She's needed me to carry many things in the past. I'm well-accustomed to large loads. Not,” he added, “that she is all that big of a load, but still.”

Nalto nodded and started in the direction of the burrow. They had to pass through a group of Meadowfolk, some of whom backed away in fear at the strange creatures, some who looked on with curiosity, and a couple who spoke concerns for Demithea's health.

“Is she alright, sir?” A hedgehog mother placed a paw on Derkeethus's arm.

“I hope so,” was all he said.

They traveled in silence for a little while, out of the sight of everyone else, before Derkeethus stopped and put his wife down. He examined her face and skin before giving up and hefting her back onto his shoulders.

The otter was insatiably curious. He had always been known by his family to be an investigator, though his more child-like habits like getting stuck in odd places while looking for things had been outgrown. “How is she?” he asked.

“Alright. This sort of thing has happened before, and she always wakes up. Usually with some new weapon or something.”

“Ah,” Nalto said, as if that made any semblance of sense. “So, you are called Argonian? Where is this Skyrim, that they have creatures like you?”

“Skyrim isn't usually known for Argonians. More for Nords, than anything else. And dragons. And cold.”

“Dragons?” Nalto said. He had to stop and look at the green lizard. Derkeethus just stared at him unblinkingly. The otter filed it away as something to ask later. They were at the entrance to the burrow and the lizard's wife needed to be put somewhere comfortable. “Here is our home. We call it the burrow, and it does stretch fairly far underground. I hope you are not claustrophobic.” He drew back the vines that shielded one of the tunnels to the main room of the burrow.

“No, I'm not. I used to work in a mine, before getting caught by some Falmer and rescued by the Dragonborn.”

“That surely is a story to tell. We will be having some drinks in the main room in a little bit, and many creatures spin their yarns there.”

“Perhaps when my wife wakes up. She is a better storyteller than I.”

Nalto cheered internally. He would get some answers soon.

They had reached the main room of the burrow, a gloomily-lit place with many torches and benches around. A large fire heating an equally-large cauldron took up the center. “Welcome to the burrow, Derkeethus. You are welcome here.” Nalto gestured to a nearby mousemaid and spoke, “This one will show you to your room. We hope you enjoy your stay.”

Derkeethus nodded at the otter and was led off.

 

\-------

 

The Dragonborn awoke from her slumber. She pushed herself off the ground and stood up. The aforementioned ground seemed to be made of solid clouds, which also climbed steadily up to the ceiling, in the imitation of walls. The ceiling stretched off into forever, forming a hole of a sky. It was an interesting room, to say the least.

She stared into the blackness of the sky hole and was caught off-guard by a voice. She turned slowly around as he spoke and was startled by the sight before her.

“Welcome, Dovahkiin,” the dragon-headed, berobed figure said. He was massive, seeming to be as large as eternity, yet small as a regular creature, at the same time. “I'm glad you've woken up. We have a lot to discuss.”

The slim figure regarded the personage before her, and what she was going to say, for a little bit. Finally she said, “What is this place?”

“This is an in-between realm. You are still present in that other one, though a projection of your spirit is here. I brought you here to talk to you.”

“Who are you?” the Dragonborn said, though she had an inkling of an idea.

“I'm sure you're used to the presence of formidable beings, dealing as you have with so many Daedra,” he spoke, not unkindly, “but this is the first time you have been in the physical presence of an Aedra. I am Akatosh.”

His words made her a little worried. Just a little, though. “Are you here to punish me for what I've done? I don't regret a minute of it. Well, mostly.”

The dragon-god laughed. His laughter shook the cloud-walls and almost made her fall over. “Plucky little one, aren't you! I have been watching you for a long time, and you do not disappoint. No, not punishment. A proposal.”

“I am already married, Akatosh.” Demithea supposed that this was the start of yet another winding quest that would result in her receiving a powerful token that she may use or just store away in a chest forever, and becoming the “champion” of whatever ethereal being was asking for her help this week. _Good_ , she thought. It had been a while since that had happened. She almost missed the feeling of it.

Akatosh laughed once more at her wit. “You know what I mean, my dear. And no, I don't plan on giving you some weapon for you to squirrel away and then never bothering you again. What I have in mind is a little more long term.”

Demithea wondered if he could read her mind. Or perhaps she was just so predictable that it was child's work to guess what she wanted? She had played the same game what was it, nine times? So far? Each had resulted in a weapon or piece of armor and her being left alone even after being called the “champion” of the being. Except for that one time.

“What is the proposal, then?” She tried not to show how that comment had unsettled her.

“First, I would like to tell you some things. I am Akatosh, as I have already said.” He moved to her side and lead her through the cloudy walls to a black, star-filled space. Below them was a planet, with several moons orbiting it. Demithea recognized the shape of the continents.

“This is Nirn, as you know. This is where you were born, and where you made your name. It is a planet very important to you, and to me, yes? Now look around.” He turned her in the shapeless space and gestured out across the stars. She could see a sort of wavering image transposed over the deep canvas of darkness. Other planets, with their own moons and stars, lined up in a flickering tube. She supposed they were not really there, yet were still visible.

“This is some of the infinite worlds connected to our own. Each with their own possibilities, their own rules, their own gods. Our part of infinity is rather small, wouldn't you think?” He directed her back to their familiar planet. “I will come right out and say it. I want to train you to become a god. You have shown a lot of promise in your adventures, including defeating my child and prolonging the existence of this world. There is a reason why Alduin is the world-eater, Dovahkiin. One day the world must die. I would like you to be there when it is reborn.”

Demithea was silent, still. She regarded the majestic sight before her and considered her options. Her option, really. “Okay,” she said.

Akatosh sighed and shook his great head. “I knew something like that would be your answer. You do have such a hard time saying no to things. Luckily I have planned for you a long series of trials, to train you up and to test you in greatly trying circumstances. You may back out at any time and return home, even at the end of your adventures. The offer I am presenting to you means your own eternity in a position you cannot back down from.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

He brought his massive head level to hers and looked her in the eyes. An abyss stared into hers and she was lost in the idea of a creature whose domain was time itself. “I have lived my own eternity, child. I still have much to go, but I know it will not be all that is. I must prepare for when that time does come. When I allow it.”

He broke his gaze and peered back down at Nirn, and all it held. “I do not expect you to understand right away what I am asking of you. That is why I want to show you, over time. The land I have brought you to is one of the safest I know. I am good friends with its caretakers.” With this, he brought her through the swirling maw that separated Nirn's space from the others. They were back in the cloudy room.

“In this land, you will be safe, and find little danger from your enemies. And you will have many enemies. I will have to give you a set of rules to live by here, so that you do not affect the creatures who live there negatively. I had to bring you there first to talk to you, away from prying eyes. You will notice that you no longer carry your sword.”

The Dragonborn looked through her inventory, and indeed, the only thing she had on her was her clothes. She took the opportunity of his pause to ask some questions.

“What prying eyes? Who are my enemies?”

“The Daedra, for one. They feel you owe them something. And with all the cavorting you've done with them, perhaps you do. But I wish to take you away from that and show you that you owe them nothing.”

“Why me?” she asked. She hoped that she would be able to ask all the questions she had in mind.

“You have shown considerable personality in your journey. At first, I did not think you would be suitable, but you have shown more than a spark of promise. If you do not work out, that is fine. I have other candidates in mind.”

“What is the place you brought me to?”

“It is a quiet offshoot of a land called Earth. The part of that land I put you at is called Mossflower Woods. There are many adventures to be had, though I think many of them are a little below your level.”

“What are the rules for myself there?”

“No magic. No mention of magic to the creatures. They believe in something like foretelling and some mystical elements, but the ruler of that land has chosen to keep most of it from them. You must also carry things normally. No inventory. They may be disturbed by how you keep track of your things. The same goes for your companion.”

_Keeth!_ she thought. She hadn't even thought about him! “What about my husband? Will he be given this same offer?”

Akatosh sighed. “I am not sure. It is not truly up to me. You are both being watched by more than myself. Perhaps one day, should he prove himself worthy, he will be noticed by one of the others.”

That gave the Dragonborn pause for thought. She looked around, one final question on her mind, and considered the strange circumstances that she was now in. “How long will we stay here?”

“You will know the duration of your stay soon enough. I expect you shall know it to the month.” Here he had on a smirk, or as close to a smirk as a dragon face could get.

“What's that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“One thing you may find, my dear, should you accept my offer, is that gods do not have to just give information away to mortals. We can speak in fun riddles and portents, and you can do nothing about it. It can be quite entertaining.”

Demithea blew air through her nostrils. She knew she wouldn't get anything more, at least for now.

“You have heard the rule about magic,” he continued, sobering up. “There must also be no Shouting, no summoning, no overt displays of power, no use of your Daedric weapons, and no violence. Don't worry about getting bored while you are waiting. I will make sure you are entertained while you are there. You must also tell your companion these rules. Make sure he does not expose you both with stories of your exploits. I will advise you as you go.”

“That doesn't sound like much fun.” Demithea began walking around the cloud room, eager to return to her self.

“Like I said, you will not be bored. We just have to wait a little bit.”

“Why?” she asked. This attitude of his was maddening.

The old god smiled and shook his head. “Now's not the time.”

She felt a pull and was immediately awake, in a small, very real, dirt room. She sat up and looked around, startling Derkeethus, who was keeping watch over her.

“'Now's not the time,' huh?” she said, standing up and beginning to pace. “Hilarious.”

“My love, is there something the matter? You sound agitated. Where did you go?” The green lizard was always patient with his wife, no matter where she went off to or what she did. He liked knowing what she was doing (especially when it involved them doing things like going deeper and deeper into a cursed tomb to find a cursed sword guarded by a cursed ghost, and fighting piles of draugr), but above everything, Derkeethus was patient.

He had been patient when he was still a miner at Darkwater Crossing, looking carefully at the rocks to find hints of precious minerals, patient when combing the waterfall pool for interesting things, patient when he was caught by the Falmer and held prisoner for such a long time before she came along, and he was patient now, whatever she did, wherever she went, and however long it took for her to return to him. It might be one of the things she never explained to him, like what had happened on Solsteim, but he still held out the hope that he may find out what had happened.

“Derkeethus, I'll explain later, but all you need to know right now is that we can't do magic, or tell stories about what we've done. Unless they don't involve magic or Shouting, I think.”

He knew he probably wouldn't get a straight answer, then. “Explaining later” never came, it was always onto the next adventure before he had caught his breath. He didn't mind, though.

“Let's go talk to the creatures that invited us here,” she said. He didn't even need to suggest it. He just nodded and hoped she was alright.


End file.
